In grief education, we are taught to allow space for empathy with others, but to differentiate between their pain and our own. It’s a safety, a hack, a way of being able to be present for those who are hurting and continue to have the strength to deal with your own life . This might seem an obvious strategy, but it isn’t for anyone who has been led to believe they are responsible for, or have the power to change another’s life. There’s a lot of us who have been brought up in a family and/or church setting which wrongly attributed blame or responsibility to us, hence the people pleasers of the world.
We all know the story of the Good Samaritan. The victim of an attack lies helpless in the dirt, two religious leaders pass by a broken bleeding human too busy, on their way to study God and tell people how and what they should be doing. It’s the Samaritan who simply knows and does what should be done, who doesn’t need the men who passed by to teach his soul that. He is already the heroic godly example of what it means to be human, and they by contrast are not.
Today I pondered the strategy of separating oneself from others' pain in order to endure my own life. It’s been 60 days, two months of heartbreak and trauma. I’ve watched and witnessed, because I believe that in turning away, I am denying the truth of the suffering of humanity, and that doesn’t set right with my soul. But do I need to remember this is someone else’s suffering and not my own? The truth is I am intertwined deeply with what is happening.
I’m part of the story because I’m human, living on this planet at this time in history. My secular education, cultural influence and every Christian teacher has prioritized a connection to Israel more than I ever understood until now. My heart holds each little child orphaned and bleeding, as a mother holds her own. Children covered in dust , missing limbs pull at my conscious and mind as I grieve the life they should have had, and the trauma that will haunt them. I watch a grandfather in shock, sweetly wait for his dead granddaughter to wake up, and I know his soul, I know what this type of goodbye is. I witness young people who are the same age as my children document and send out to the world proof of their people and their land suffering, staying composed and dignified, knowing the immense weight they are carrying. I refuse to turn away or be silent, because I know what it means and how it feels to be silenced, and turned away from in the most desperate of times.
I’ve known in the core of my being what is happening. I’ve relived every step I took when I stood up for victims in our community, like the replay of a movie. It has not been eerie or creepy or coincidence, but a textbook rereading. I knew instinctively what I simply lacked language for. So I wonder now if we all have the knowing deep inside us and just like me, there’s layers of blinding manipulations that stop us from seeing and then moving in truth. It’s this crazy hope I have that is the making and breaking of my heart. It a heartbeat my husband and I shared, of hope beyond hope.
The first run went like this:
The rerun:
I feel the same familiar feeling of living the deepest, most real, authentic life I possibly can and not living in reality. How is this happening and every decent person not in agreement that this is wrong? How is the Christmas season still happening when in Bethlehem it has been canceled? How is there that much cognitive dissonance in a country, a community , a church that prides itself as being “Christian “? How will we learn to think critically, protect the vulnerable and live with compassion and integrity if we turn away from the truth of what this Christmas season demands of us?
How can anyone claim to be godly, let alone human at such a time as this?
Our Christ Nativity Looking back from just ahead waiting